A Curable Curse
by rentAgleek
Summary: Blaine Anderson has lived in Salt Lake City all his life, and has a secret he's not allowed to even think about. When he turns eighteen, the church sends him on a mission - to New York City. Once there, he meets Jesse St James, who has never seen a Mormon that wasn't on Broadway. Blaine is almost broken, and before long Jesse begins feeling things he never thought he would.


**_I had this idea a while ago, asked around on tumblr and it got a little bit of interest so I thought I'd put pen to paper. Well, fingers to keys. Hope you like it!_  
**

**_Title and chapter names come from lyrics from the AMAZING musical known as The Book of Mormon, but you don't need to have seen the show to get this fic. It's mentioned several times but you don't need to know anything about it. However I would strongly recommend that you go and download the sountrack. It will blow your freaking mind._**

**_In case you don't know anything about Mormonism as a religion, again, not much to know. Here are the few basic facts you need in order to understand this story:_**

**_1. Salt Lake City, in the state of Utah, is the homeland of Mormon's. It's like the Mormon capital of the world._**

**_2. Mormon doctrine condemns homosexuality in the extreme sense. The Mormon Church (the Jesus Christ Church of Latter Day Saints) does some truly terrible things to gay Mormons, which will be explored later in the story._**

**_3. Mormon doctrine also views women as inferior to men (originally, Mormons had dozens of wives) and the wife has to be submissive to her husband._**

**_4. When Mormon men turn eighteen, they go on missions in pairs. The purpose of the mission is to teach people about Mormonism and convert them whilst also having a positive impact on the community. They go away for two years and are not allowed contact with their family or friends._**

**_5. When I was writing this, I got utterly preoccupied when writing about Jesse's musical snobbery. I apologise for rambling. Please remember that these are not my views, they are the views I imagine Jesse to hold. Please do not get angry with me if he says/thinks something about an artist you like; it's JESSE'S view, not mine._**

**_Soo that's about all you need to know. Read. Review. Enjoy!_**

**Chapter I**

**Life is about to change**

**October, 2011**

Blaine Anderson adjusted his tie for the hundredth time that day as he tried, and failed, to ignore the nausea which had been slowly gathering somewhere in the pit of his stomach for the past week. He made sure he had the right name tag – he'd heard horror stories of men going out with a name that did not belong to them pinned on their chests. Really, though, Blaine knew that his tie was perfect, that his shirt was stiffly pressed, that his shoes could pass as mirrors and that he most definitely had the right name tag.

He'd been standing in the hallway for the past half hour, staring unblinkingly at the door and wishing that nine o'clock would not strike today. But as the minute hand drew dangerously close to eight fifty-five, he heard his parents coming through from the kitchen. Blaine turned to them, forcing a smile as his mother approached.

'Oh, Blainey!' she said, throwing her arms around him and kissing his cheek as she squeezed him tightly.

'Mom,' he protested feebly, but clung onto her all the same. He was scared. Blaine closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in his mother's smell; the lavender oil that she had been dabbing on her skin each morning for as long as he could remember, the lemon fabric softener of her dress and the synthetic flowery scent of her hair, dark and curly, like Blaine's. He didn't know when he'd be able to hug his mother again. If he closed his eyes and tried very hard, he could pretend that he was just a small child again, and the prospect of leaving her was a long way off. But now the inevitable had happened. Blaine Anderson had grown up. And even though he'd always wanted to do so, now that adulthood was actually here, he wondered why he'd been in such a hurry.

'Come on, boy, we need to start driving to the airport,' his father said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder and jerking Blaine out of his daydreams. His father picked up his suitcase, his mother fretted that he didn't have enough clothes and Blaine took one last look around the place he'd called home for eighteen years. Then he slammed the door behind him and tried not to turn back, remembering the story in the bible. The people in that story made the mistake of turning back to look at their city, even when they knew they oughtn't to, and Heavenly Father had instantly turned them to stone as a punishment. They'd rotted away.

The next hour or so went by ridiculously fast. He was introduced to his mission companion, a tall boy named Sam Evans. He had soft blonde hair which Blaine thought was sweet – no, smart, he corrected himself. As for the way his shirt clung to the toned body it hid, and the way Sam grinned at him, Blaine found himself feeling something…impossible to describe. It began somewhere in his chest and then spread to his stomach, culminating with Blaine breathing in sharply to collect himself. This feeling had been his companion since the age of about thirteen, fourteen or so, appearing randomly when he least expected, annoying and unpredictable. He didn't know what it was, or what it meant, but something told Blaine that he wasn't supposed to feel like this. Ever. He'd stayed silent and confused, never telling anyone. In recent years he'd begun to have his suspicions about what it all meant. But every time that – that _word_, entered his mind, Blaine pushed it out sharply, ashamed that he'd even considered such a thing. He would then kneel on the hard floor of his bedroom, enduring the pain he deserved and praying very, very hard to Heavenly Father.

All too soon, he was getting ready to board the plane. As the airport steward called out that it was the final boarding call, Blaine slowly stood up. His father shook his hand. He always did this – he never held Blaine like his mother did. And now that he thought about it, Blaine decided that it was a little odd that a father would shake hands with his own son. You shake hands with strangers, or with co-workers. Not family. Why had he never considered this before?

'It's not forever, honey, you know that, don't you?' his mother sobbed into Blaine's shoulder. He nodded.

'I know, I know. Two years,' he said quietly.

'Yes. You'll go serve Heavenly Father, and then you'll come back here. You'll marry Quinn and move into one of the little houses in the next neighbourhood over. You'll come by every other day to check in, and I can cook for you, all your favourites. You'll have a whole gang of kids. Oh, sweetie, just think! You have these two years, now, to really find yourself. Find God. Connect with God. You know, I always thought it was a shame that the girls didn't get to go too,' she rambled, but quickly stopped talking when Blaine's father gave her a stern look at her last comment. His mother's cheeks burned with embarrassment and she ducked her head silently.

The three of them stared at each other for one last moment, Blaine hating his father for ruining the goodbye. 'I have to go,' Blaine muttered, kissing his mother's cheek and nodding at his father. He left them, walking slightly faster than was necessary. He tried to ignore his mother's whimpers and his father's impatient sighs. He convinced himself not to look back at them, and instead walked silently with Sam to board the plane.

It was only once he was seated, when he had smiled politely at the air hostesses and looked out of the window at Salt Lake City for the last time, that Blaine finally allowed himself to cry.

* * *

Jesse St James glanced at the clock on his bedside table and groaned. It was just after six o'clock. Why was it that whenever he didn't need to get up early, when he didn't need to be anywhere, when it was one of those rare days where he could actually sleep in, that he found himself waking up far too early? Jesse rolled over, trying to get back to sleep but knowing it would be impossible now. He was in that unpleasant state when one is too tired to get up but too awake to sleep.

Sitting up, he groggily reached towards his CD player. Jesse generally played music on his computer and thus couldn't remember the last time he'd actually gone through the ritual of opening a CD case, carefully removing the wafer thin disc, trying to let not even even the smallest scrap of finger flesh come into contact with the shiny rainbow where the music lived. However, he figured that whatever it was would be good enough to lay in bed and wake up to. He was Jesse St James. And Jesse St James did, after all, have exceptional taste in music.

The worst selections in his music library would probably be the best features of most other people's. The guilty pleasures of society at large were musicians – if you could even call them that – like Britney Spears, Justin Bieber, (which Jesse would never, ever understand), the autotuned gang of kidults on that TV show, and – Jesse shuddered – Ke$ha. His guilty pleasures lay in real artists, like the raw, threadbare sound on Alice Ripley's acoustic album, a voice so devoid of mixing and effects that many people couldn't bear to hear her – but Jesse heard beauty and reality where others heard ugliness. Sometimes the poorly recorded melodies of forgotten nineties bands like Tattle Tale, or the handful of bearable ditties that Lana Del Ray whispered and crooned her way through – although half the songs on her album shouldn't exist, she was still worth a listen.

He was one of those people who knew all the lyrics to We Didn't Start the Fire, Bohemian Rhapsody and the like. Meanwhile, everyone else prided themselves on being able to rap every word of Empire State of Mind or knowing all the moves to All The Single Ladies or some such rubbish. Jesse's biggest guilty pleasure, however, were cast recordings of fluffy, only half-decent musicals. White Noise, 13, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, Wonderland, Brooklyn, Catch Me If You Can and the like. He wouldn't consider these to be on the same level as shows like Hair, Into the Woods – or just about anything by Sondheim, for that matter – A Chorus Line, West Side Story – which was not by Sondheim, as many mistakenly believed, just the lyrics – and his latest obsession, Once, which was just perfect. Nonetheless, he still enjoyed listening to these short-lived musicals.

He hit the play button and the machine whirred into life as the disc spun and buffered, making the sounds that instantly made him nostalgic for his teenage years. Jesse lay back down, hoping for Eva Cassidy's gentle blues or perhaps the RENT soundtrack, that way he could lay there and listen to act one, get a cup of tea, change the disc, and get back into bed for act two. However, as a doorbell sounded, he straight away knew which CD was playing and grinned.

'_Hello! My name is Elder Price, and I would like to share with you the most amazing book,'_ came Andrew Rannell's unaccompanied, cheery tone. Jesse chuckled, unable to remember the last time he'd listened to this entire album all the way through. Sure, he listened to the odd song occasionally – Hasa Diga Eebowai was the best way to deal with a shitty day, Turn It Off never failed to make him laugh, and Tomorrow is a Latter Day just gave him a fantastic feeling.

All the Mormons began joining in, building the sound as they sang in wonderful polyphony. Jesse worried briefly that the volume was a little too high, but he shrugged it off. However, as he heard the loud sounds of Beyonce's Love On Top booming in from the next room in a musical protest, Jesse sighed and shut the music off. His door opened and Santana barged in with a face like thunder. He braced himself – his roommate was so not a morning person. 'Jess. Seriously. It's fucking six o'clock in the morning,' she growled dangerously.

'Sorry. Couldn't sleep,' he said, wishing once again that he had enough money not to need a roommate. But he knew that if Santana ever moved out, he'd miss her. A lot.

'I didn't get in until two AM,' she moaned.

'That's not my fault. You know, you can bring girls back here. I don't mind, I'll just put my headphones in. Or not,' he told her, winking.

She rolled her eyes, knowing he was joking. 'I wasn't fucking, I was working. I had the late shift, and today I need to cover the lunch shift, starting at eleven, because one of the other waitresses is sick. I can't do that on four hours of sleep,' Santana told him. Jesse immediately shot her an apologetic look.

'Sorry, San. I had no idea. I'll switch it off. As long as the Beyonce stays off,' he warned.

'I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, anyhow,' she said.

'Tell me about it,' he muttered. There was a pause whilst Santana tied back her messy hair.

'I'm going to make coffee. You want?' she asked him.

'Most definitely,' he agreed.

'Ok. You take care of your morning wood while I make it,' she said, leaving. Jesse rolled his eyes but laughed all the same, having grown used long ago to Santana's comments. As he got out of bed, he saw that he did indeed have a slight situation down below, and went to the bathroom to take care of it. 'I don't know why you're complaining, Beyonce is hot as hell,' Santana called from the kitchen. Jesse groaned, the image of the singer that Santana had put in his head really, really not helping him deflate his problem.

'Can't argue with that. Unfortunately, her music is rapidly going downhill. Not that it was ever amazing, but still,' he said back.

'Stop with the music politics, it's too early,' she told him. 'And Beyonce's songs are freaking awesome,' Santana concluded.

'Well as someone who also believes the music of Katy Perry, Rihanna, Lady Ga Ga, Taylor Swift and the like is 'freaking awesome', I can't really take your opinion seriously,' Jesse retorted, but they were joking now. Santana and Jesse constantly had conversations like this.

'Whatever, get with the times, Grandpa,' she said, laughing. Jesse left the bathroom and went to the kitchen, grinning as he picked up the mug of steaming coffee. They sipped quietly for a moment. 'But why don't you like those singers? I think they pretty much sum up this generation,' Santana said, speaking quite seriously. Jesse raised his eyebrow.

'Seriously? You're using the generational line of argument? Racial segregation, sexism, war and intolerance was all part of the sixties generation but that's not a good thing. Just because something sums up a generation doesn't make it good,' he pointed out. Santana rolled her eyes, allowing him to continue. 'Katy Perry needs to grow up and stop singing songs about things that teenagers do. She's in her twenties for God's sake, not to mention the fact that she couldn't survive without autotune or her ridiculous outfits. Strip her down and there's nothing there, it's all in the effects. Also, 'That's so Gay' is one of the most offensive songs I've ever heard and I'm not even gay. I thought you of all people would detest her purely for singing that song,' Jesse said.

'Alright, I'll admit, I don't like that song. But the rest of her stuff is awesome,' Santana said, but he wasn't done.

'Rihanna – pretty much the same as what I said about Katy, although at least she acts her age, and in her case it's more about the lack of any clothing whatsoever. And she does have some talent, it's just her songs that suck. Lady Ga Ga, I'll admit…is good in some ways. I wouldn't listen to her songs but I think seeing her perform live would be an experience. And I'm glad she's around because I think that people, young people especially, really benefit from having her as an influence. Honestly, though, I wish she wouldn't act out and wear those insane clothes. She's at her best when she plays the piano and sings into a microphone,' Jesse said frankly.

Santana didn't even bother arguing with him; she knew it would be useless, and instead decided to just let him think he'd won. Jesse knew that she did this but he still felt a satisfaction. 'Do I even want to hear your thoughts on Taylor Swift?' she asked sarcastically. Jesse laughed, drinking some coffee. They were silent for a moment before he spoke.

'I'm just sick of people calling her a country artist because she's not, she sings pop songs with a country style. Johnny Cash is a country singer. Natalie Hemby is a country singer. Taylor Swift is not,' Jesse burst out.

'All of her songs have banjos playing,' Santana argued, regretting it instantly.

'That's exactly what her producers want you to think! I could play a fucking banjo in Toxic or Poker Face or something and it wouldn't automatically make it a country song,' Jesse said. 'She's not terrible. In fact, out of all the people you named, she's possibly the best. But she's not super amazingly brilliant. And she's not a country singer,' he finished quietly.

They sipped in silence for a moment. Santana grinned to show him it was ok and he smiled back. They didn't take these debates seriously. It was just part of their friendship. What was the fun in agreeing on everything all of the time? Jesse's thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. He frowned. 'Who the hell comes calling at this time? On a Saturday?' Santana asked incredulously.

'I'll get it,' Jesse said. 'You're not exactly decent,' he said, gesturing to Santana's body, clad only in panties and a thin vest.

'Whatever. I'm getting a shower. Then more coffee,' she said, heading for the bathroom. Jesse crossed the room and opened the door. Standing there was a youngish man, quite small, with dark hair that had been coated in five times the ideal amount of gel. Jesse assumed he was in college. He had a smile plastered across his face, but his eyes looked petrified. Jesse cast his eyes over the man's outfit – white shirt, black trousers, black tie, name tag. He smiled to himself at the irony before speaking.

'Halloween isn't until Tuesday. And you really shouldn't go trick or treating at this time of the morning, no-one is going to give you candy,' Jesse told him, amused. The man frowned and shook his head. 'You're not an eager trick or treater from the NYU theatre department dressing up as your favourite musical character?' he asked. The man shook his head again, an expression that lingered somewhere between confusion and offence on his face. They were silent for a moment, Jesse waiting for him to say something, but nothing came. 'Can I help you?' he asked finally. The man nodded eagerly.

'Yes – I mean, no,' he said. Now it was Jesse's turn to look confused. 'I mean, I can help you!' he said, finally saying what he wanted to. Jesse leaned on the doorframe, anticipating that this could take some time, and gestured for him to continue. The man took a deep breath. 'Hello. My name is Elder,' he began, but then suddenly let out a loud sob and began crying. Jesse didn't know what to do. 'I'm sorry,' the man said between sobs. 'I've – I've never done this before,' he explained.

Jesse sighed. Most New Yorkers would slam the door in his face – or, more likely, they wouldn't have answered it in the first place. But Jesse felt sorry for this young man. 'Come inside,' he said eventually, stepping aside and allowing the man to enter, which he did gratefully. 'You should probably know that it's not usually a good idea to walk into a stranger's apartment. But I'm not dangerous,' he said, smiling. The man nervously returned it. 'Would you like some coffee?' he asked. The man shook his head.

'No, thank you. I – I don't drink coffee,' he said quietly.

'Oh, right, of course. Sorry,' Jesse apologised. The man shrugged. 'I'm Jesse,' he said after a moment.

'Blaine,' the man said. 'I mean, Elder. Elder Anderson,' he corrected himself.

'Can't I call you Blaine?' Jesse asked.

'Um, well I guess that would be alright,' Blaine said.

'So you're a real Mormon then,' Jesse remarked. He nodded. 'I must admit, my knowledge of Mormonism is pretty much limited to the plot of The Book of Mormon,' he confessed. Blaine reached into his satchel and pulled out a small black book.

'You mean this?' he asked. Jesse laughed, shaking his head. Then he went to the bookshelf that was on the other side of the room and reached for a small, thin brown book.

'I mean this,' he said, showing Blaine the libretto.

'A musical? About Mormonism?' he asked in confusion.

'Yeah, it's amazing. Best thing Broadway has seen in years,' he told him.

'The only musicals I've ever seen are Annie and Oklahoma. And of course Disney movies,' Blaine admitted. Jesse's eyes widened.

'How did you survive?' he asked. 'Sorry. I'm kind of obsessed with theatre. I couldn't imagine living without it. So anyway, now that you're in New York you really ought to check out a few shows to expand your theatre experience,' he told him.

'I guess I probably should, I mean, being so close to Broadway. What's that one about the cats?' he asked Jesse.

'Cats?' he answered. Blaine nodded.

'Yes, that one. Maybe I could see that,' he considered.

'Blaine, Cats closed over a decade ago,' Jesse told him. His face fell.

'Oh. Well, maybe I'll see this show. It is about Mormons, after all,' Blaine said.

'Erm…well, as a theatre lover, and huge fan of the show, then yes, you should see it…but as a relatively sensitive person, I have to warn you that you might be offended,' Jesse told him.

'Why? What happens?' he asked.

Jesse shifted in his seat, uncertain as to how much he should tell Blaine about the plot of the show. He really shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place. 'Well…two Mormon boys go on mission to Uganda,' he said. 'That's in Africa,' he told Blaine.

'Oh, like Lion King,' he said. Jesse resisted the urge to laugh.

'Not exactly,' he told him. 'So…yeah. They go to Uganda to try and convert the people there to Mormonism,' he said.

'Do they succeed?' Blaine asked.

'You could say that,' Jesse replied.

'It doesn't sound rude at all. It sounds like a nice, inspiring story,' Blaine said. Jesse bit his lip.

'It's certainly uplifting. I just – I mean, go and see it if you want. But don't blame me if you get upset by it. Ok?' he said. Blaine nodded.

'Would you like anything to drink?' Jesse offered after a moment.

'Do you have any juice?' he asked. Jesse got up and went to fridge, getting out the orange juice and pouring two glasses. He passed one to Blaine.

'Thank you,' he said, taking a sip.

'I'm making breakfast. I can whip you up something, too, if you like,' Jesse said, taking things out of the cupboards and fridge.

'If you're offering, then yes, that would be very nice. But I don't want to impose,' Blaine said quickly.

'Don't be ridiculous, it's no trouble,' Jesse said, cracking several eggs into a bowl.

'Jess, have you seen my black skirt? I need it for work,' Santana called out. Before Jesse could answer, she walked into the kitchen, seeing if she had left it in there. She was wearing nothing but a bra and thong. Jesse was quite used to her walking around in underwear and didn't react. Blaine, on the other hand, made a noise that sounded like a frightened mouse.

'And who's this?' Santana said.

'This is Blaine,' Jesse said. 'He was at the door,' he told her.

'Pleased to meet you,' Blaine said, holding out his hand, but keeping his head down, looking at the floor.

'What's wrong?' Santana asked. 'The lack of clothing? Sorry. I didn't know you were here,' she apologised.

'It's – it's not appropriate for a man to see a lady when she's indecent. Unless he's her husband,' he answered, embarrassed.

'Oh. No big deal. I don't care, and besides, I'm very gay,' she told him.

Blaine gave a little gasp, and his expression grew very uncomfortable. Jesse held his breath; he hadn't anticipated this. Blaine didn't seem like the homophobic type. Santana noticed Blaine's reaction and immediately assumed the worst, as she had been doing since she was sixteen.

'What's your problem?' she asked, trying to keep her voice level. Blaine mumbled something incoherently and then Santana looked at him. Her eyes took in the clothing, and she quickly put two and two together. Jesse had dragged her to see The Book of Mormon several months ago. She knew how they dressed. And she knew what their views were about gay people, not to mention ethnic minorities. And women. She frowned angrily.

'Why the hell is there a homophobe sitting in our kitchen?' she asked Jesse icily.

'I thought he was alright,' he told Santana.

'Are you fucking kidding me? I know what you people think about people like me. Well guess what, I'm a Hispanic lesbian, so you can either accept that or get the hell out,' she told Blaine darkly.

'It goes against Heavenly Father, but I try not to judge anyone,' Blaine said hurriedly. 'It's just – I've never met a homo-homosexual,' he began, then stood up. 'Excuse me,' he muttered, running to the bathroom.

'Blaine, that's the linen closet,' Jesse called out.

'I know,' came Blaine's choked voice, followed by sobs. Jesse and Santana looked at each other, unsure what to do.

'Why is he so upset?' Jesse whispered.

'Maybe he's gay,' Santana considered. 'That would explain why he got so upset, and why he's now in the closet, no pun intended,' she whispered back.

'A gay Mormon?' Jesse said doubtfully.

'It happens,' she replied.

'But you think everyone is gay. You think I'm gay,' Jesse pointed out. She rolled her eyes, grinning.

Then they stopped talking because Blaine stepped out. His eyes were red. The three of them stared at each other for a moment in silence.

'I guess I should leave,' Blaine said quietly.

'You can stay for breakfast,' Santana said.

'I thought I'd upset you,' Blaine mumbled, looking at the floor. She shrugged. Jesse spoke.

'You're clearly going through something. I don't know what it is and you are under no obligation to tell me, Blaine. We just met. You can tell me when you're ready. Or you can just not tell me at all. It's up to you. Either way, it doesn't matter. You only just arrived in New York, right?' he asked. Blaine nodded. 'Then you need someone here who will look out for you,' he said, offering him a small smile.

'Thank you. And I'm sorry,' he said. They were quiet for a moment before Santana spoke, her tone more cheerful.

'I'm going to cover myself and then we'll eat,' she said, offering Blaine a friendly smile as she walked out.

* * *

After they'd eaten, Santana said she had to read a book for class, and went to her bedroom. Jesse and Blaine were left at the table. They talked about school, sports, television – Blaine only watched shows that Jesse had lost interest in by the age of fifteen – and Jesse listened as Blaine told him about Utah, and Blaine listened as Jesse told him about Ohio. Jesse also decided that relying solely on a satirical musical was not the best way to learn about a religion, so he made Blaine educate him. Jesse was careful not to ask about the religion's stance on homosexuality. It was clearly a sore spot.

They didn't realise how much time had passed until Santana came out of her room and left for work.

'Sam's going to be worried,' Blaine said, grabbing his things.

'Who's Sam?' Jesse asked.

'My mission companion,' he told him. Jesse nodded.

Blaine went to the door. 'So…goodbye,' he said.

'You should come over again. This was nice,' Jesse told him.

'I'll see if I can. Or maybe you can come to our apartment,' he offered. Jesse nodded. Blaine smiled, turning to leave. He seemed so small and helpless, Jesse thought. He'd looked that way from the moment he first saw Blaine, but after the incident with the closet, the man just looked…broken. There was no other way to put it. Before he really knew he was doing it, Jesse walked over to Blaine and wrapped his arms around his smaller frame. Blaine made a little noise of surprise, but soon relaxed into the hug.

'It's alright,' Jesse whispered. After a moment, they moved apart. Blaine looked up at Jesse, his golden eyes uncertain.

'No-one has ever held me before. Except my mom. I thought people only did hugs in the movies,' Blaine said. Jesse wasn't sure how to respond to that. It broke his heart and yet made him want to laugh at the same time. 'Can – can we do it again?' he asked quietly. Jesse wordlessly pulled Blaine back towards him. They stayed together longer this time. Jesse couldn't believe that Blaine had never had physical contact.

After a while, Jesse felt something nudging into his thigh ever so slightly. Blaine's keys or something? Then he realised. 'Blaine,' he said very softly. The man in his arms gave a petrified whimper and moved away from him.

'I have to go,' he said quietly, backing away out of the door.

'It's ok, don't worry,' Jesse called, but Blaine shook his head, his eyes shining with tears.

'S-sorry,' he stuttered, before running away from the apartment at breakneck speed.

Jesse stared after him. He didn't know what to do.

* * *

Blaine arrived back at his apartment after running for twenty minutes solid. He let himself in and Sam immediately began asking him where he'd been, was he ok, did he realise how long it had been, did you at least give away all the books etc etc. He ignored Sam's questions and locked himself in the bathroom. He sat on the floor, leaning on the door as he cried. What was wrong with him? He wasn't supposed to let things like this happen. He wasn't a – one of those people. He wasn't. He couldn't.

* * *

**_What did you think? Please REVIEW!_**

**_Also, I promise this is a love story. I know Jesse said he wasn't gay, but there will be questions of identity arising in later chapters. I promise it's not just a friendship story._**

**_REVIEW! and I will update._**


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